


Sandpaper

by theinternetruinedmylife



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Tony Stark Has A Heart, depersonalisation, flash isn't a massive dick in this one, kind of sad, like it's not stated outright but that's what i was going for, tell me if i need to add more tags idk how this works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 17:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinternetruinedmylife/pseuds/theinternetruinedmylife
Summary: Peter opens his eyes and breathes foreign air into his lungs.Feeling washes over him in a single wave; he can feel jagged rocks underneath his head, he can feel the cool metal of the Iron Spider suit. He can feel blood pumping through his body.He can taste ash on his teeth.After the events of Infinity War, Peter wakes up on Titan, but he doesn't feel right.





	Sandpaper

**Author's Note:**

> Cool beans.  
> I am writing lots at the moment because I am stressed about my exams which are coming up soon and then in september i'm hopefully going to uni. it's not stressful at all. i'm doing great.  
> anyway, i procrastinated from revision because if i see another flashcard i'm going to puke.  
> hope you enjoy the fic.  
> warnings for disassociation i think? oh and please tell me if there's anything wrong with it so i can fix it!!!!  
> not beta-read, so all mistakes are my own (i've seen a lot of people say this on fics so i'm copying them and saying it too it makes me feel official)

Peter opens his eyes and breathes foreign air into his lungs. 

Feeling washes over him in a single wave; he can feel jagged rocks underneath his head, he can feel the cool metal of the Iron Spider suit. He can feel blood pumping through his body.

He can taste ash on his teeth.

“Peter! Peter, thank God.” Someone is holding his hand, stroking his hair, and he can feel it all. 

“Mr. Stark?” His voice doesn’t feel right. His body doesn’t belong to him.

“Breathe, Peter.” That’s right. Pull oxygen down alien windpipes and into strange lungs. Push it back out through unfamiliar lips. “Good, you’re doing good. Are you hurt?”

“I’m back.” Peter stares up at Mr. Stark with unspoken questions lying heavy on his tongue.

“Yeah, you’re back. So is everyone else. Quill, Strange, Mantis and Drax are on their ship already.” There’s worry burning in Mr. Stark’s eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Peter shakes his head and hauls himself up, standing on trembling legs. Mr. Stark reaches out to support him.

'Do they remember the Place?' Peter wants to ask, but all he can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other. He can’t completely remember how to do it. He knows enough to stay upright, but beyond that, Mr. Stark needs to lead him, tugging him towards the spaceship.

Once they’re inside, Mr. Stark deposits Peter on an empty bench. He’s left alone for a while, left with thoughts swirling around his mind too quickly for him to grasp.

“Peter.” The mystical Stephen Strange is standing above him, looking haughty despite his worn appearance. “How do you feel?”

Dead. Shaky. Anxious. Not real. “Fine.” He looks down at his hands, examining the way his fingers bend and twist.

“Stark says you knew what was coming,” Strange prompts.

“Yeah. I could feel it. Couldn’t you?” Strange shakes his head. “Oh. Spider-Sense, I guess.” Strange looks mildly irritated at the unknown ‘spider-sense’, but Peter is too tired to explain what it is or how it works.

“Can you explain it to me? What it felt like?”

“Why?” Suddenly, Peter feels defensive. “Why do you want to know that? Who the hell would want to know what it feels like to have your body burn and break into thousands of little pieces? I felt my lungs disappear, I felt my stomach turn to dust. I felt my body crumble and die, and you want to know what it felt like? It hurt! It just hurt.”

“Peter, calm down.”

“Do you remember the Place?” he blurts out, because he’s scared and so pathetically weak.

“With the orange glow? Yes,” Strange says. “I’m the only one, probably due to my increased exposure of alternate dimensions. You remember it too?”

“Ish,” Peter nods. His throat feels weird and tight. “There were people, but not. Just thoughts floating around in a sunset. I remember – I felt you. You were all calm and clever. And I felt the Scarlet Witch lady, and her relief and sorrow, and I felt everything but nothing. I didn’t exist, but I did.”

“You exist now,” Strange says, and it’s odd to see him pretend to care about Peter, because a few hours, or days, or weeks or months ago, Strange wouldn’t have bat an eyelid if Peter was hurt. “It might feel like you don’t, but you do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’m never wrong, Peter.” Strange moves away. Peter stares at his hands. His hands. They are his hands and they belong to him.

He is here. He is real.

 

By the time they get to Earth, Mr. Stark has forced a bowl of soup down Peter’s throat. Peter appreciates the scalding burn it leaves behind. It keeps him anchored to the ground, unable to float away back to the Place. Mr. Stark told him he was inside the soul stone. Somehow that doesn’t feel quite right.

He can walk a little bit better, now. He still clings onto Mr. Stark, but his legs don’t threaten to collapse beneath him.

He’s greeted by May, who hugs him so tightly he feels like she’ll never let go. Eventually she does, but she keeps a tight grip on his arm, as if she’s terrified that he’ll disappear if she turns around for even a second. Peter understands; he’s scared too.

“No more trips up to space, okay?” she says, her voice scolding and light, with a trace of tears behind each word. Peter’s pins the corners of his lips up, forces life into his eyes.

“Can we still watch Star Wars? That doesn’t really count as space, does it?” May laughs and hugs him again. 

“Yeah. We’ll invite Ned and Michelle over and watch all of them. I’ll make popcorn.”

Rhodey comes and takes her attention away from Peter for a moment, and his smile falters. Before she notices, it’s back, as bright as the sun.

“I love you, May.” It turns out May had a façade too; tears spill out of her eyes and down her cheeks. 

“I love you too.”

 

Peter forces himself to sit through the Star Wars marathon, mechanically eating popcorn out of a large bowl. In the darkness of the apartment, no one notices.

“I’ve got to head home,” MJ says, once they have made a substantial dent in the movies. “My dad’s getting worried.” She leaves with a smile and a wave.

“My mom said I can stay over, if that’s okay with you?” Ned says. He keeps shooting glances towards Peter that are probably supposed to be subtle. May nods, and they go to Peter’s bedroom.

“Wow,” Peter mumbles, sitting on his bed, looking around at his things. He grabs one of his books, his fingers running down the spine. Ned shuts the door and sits next to him.

“Are you okay?” 

Peter shrugs, enjoying the feeling of his bones and muscles moving to create the gesture.

“I’m just getting used to existing again,” he says honestly.

“Did something happen?” Ned asks. Oblivious Ned, completely missing what Peter meant.

“Half of the universe died,” Peter says. “You died, I died, MJ’s little brother died.”

Ned’s mouth drops open. “You remember it, don’t you? I don’t. I think I dreamt about it last night, but all I can remember is the colour orange.”

“I remember everything.” Peter takes a shuddering breath.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Peter considers it; considers pouring out every part of his soul, sharing it all with his best friend since third grade. That’s what friends are for, after all.

But that’s not realistic, it’s not logical, and it’s not fair. Peter could tell Ned how it felt to feel his organs disintegrate, how it felt for his toes and fingers to disappear. He could tell Ned about the dizzying panic screaming at him before his first few cells vanished, he could tell Ned about the terror and the fear he felt as his body burned into nothing.

He can’t do that to Ned, though. Ned felt peace, when he died, and he woke up and resumed life as if his world didn’t end. Peter can’t drag Ned down to where he’s crawling in the dirt.

“It just felt weird,” Peter settles for. It’s less than a half-truth, but it’s not a lie, either. It’s the best he can do. “The orange place, apparently that was inside the soul stone. And there weren’t bodies or shapes or feelings, just concepts and thoughts. It was worse than calculus.”

Ned senses the hint of a lie but doesn’t say anything. 

“What’s it been like down here? God, I don’t even know what the date is.” Peter drops the book on the floor and lies back on his bed, holding onto his cotton pillow.

“It’s just a few days after you went up in that spaceship,” Ned tells him. Peter deflates, just slightly; he feels like a completely different person than the child who went on that school trip. “Uh, at first there was a little bit of panic. Especially when everyone, uh, went? Died? Whatever. But now everything’s back to normal. School is still going, which sucks; seriously, a spaceship descends upon the Earth and we don’t even get a day off?”

“School feels so stupid, now,” Peter laughs, an odd weight sitting heavy in his chest. “I can’t wait to go back.”

“Are you ready to go back?” Ned asks, voice careful. “I mean, you seem kind of out of it, man. All spacey and off.”

“I just need to get back into things, you know?” Peter says. Ned doesn’t know, but he nods anyway. “Don’t worry, Ned, I’m just adjusting. Space is weird. Dude, you have no idea how upset I am that I didn’t bump into Han Solo up there.”

The distraction works; Ned starts rambling about space, asking what it’s like to be up there among the stars. Peter tells him that he can taste stardust in his mouth; he doesn’t tell him that it tastes more like ash than stars.

 

When Peter starts school again a week later (which is much later than most students, who went back to school at the first opportunity. They don’t remember. He does), he still doesn’t feel right. He watches how the light from his lamp splits into splintering shards of yellow and wonders how they can be real.

Orange lights make him feel funny. Headlights from cars make the butterflies in his stomach shrivel and die. They turn into dust and he feels like he’s choking.  
Peter is coping, though. He listens to music with especially loud bass, which makes his bones vibrate. He keeps a small piece of sandpaper in his pocket. When things get especially hard, he strokes his fingers along the rough surface, letting the ridges and bumps ground him.

Surprisingly, it’s Flash who confronts him about his… weirdness… first. Perhaps it’s because Ned is too worried about setting him off, and MJ doesn’t know if it’s her place to talk about how distant Peter has been lately. Sure, she’s blunt, but she’s also tactful, in her own way.

“What is up with you?” Flash corners him at then end of the day, when Peter’s taking his books out of his locker.

“Uh, what?” Peter asks, sticking his hand in his pocket and touching his sandpaper. “Nothing. I’m a bit nervous about the chem test, though. How do you think you did?”

“You look like you’re high,” Flash continues, ignoring Peter’s weak lies. He peers at Peter, looking at his eyes. “Are you high?”

“Jesus, no,” Peter hisses. He had expected Flash to leave immediately after the first insult, and the unusual persistence was stressing him out. “Just leave me alone, Flash.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on, Parker.”

Peter snaps. He shoves Flash in the chest, hard. Flash goes flying, head hitting the lockers on the other side of the hallway with a loud bang. He slides down to the floor, a dazed look on his face.

“Oh fuck. I-I didn’t mean-” Peter cuts himself off and runs away, pushing students and teachers alike out of his way. He bursts through the front doors and hits someone warm and solid, knocking them to the ground. Peter follows them, tumbling down the steps and landing in a heap of tangled limbs.

“Jesus, kid, look where you’re going,” Happy grumbles, standing up and brushing his suit off. He steps towards Peter, faltering when he sees the kid’s panicked expression. “You okay?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Peter sobs, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it was an accident, I swear!”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Happy says. Peter doesn’t calm down, breaths coming in harsh pants. Happy never really knows what to do with kids, but he does his best, hauling Peter into his car and buckling his seatbelt. 

 

Happy makes it to the compound in record time. Normally, he would just dump Peter at the door and drive off, but today he parks the Audi and walks Peter inside, keeping a tight grip on his shoulder. His sobs have finally slowed down and turned into short, sharp breaths.

“Peter, come look at this,” Tony says once they’re in the lab, not looking up from his work. Peter obediently stands next to Tony, peering over his shoulder. Happy takes this as his cue to leave. “I’ve designed a new web combination for your suit, and I think you’re going to love it.” He pauses dramatically, waiting for Peter to fill the silence with eager questions. 

Instead, he hears a sniffle.

He makes eye contact with the kid, and that’s all it takes for Peter to burst into tears.

“Fuck, Peter, shit,” Tony mutters. “Right, kid, just sit down and take a few breaths for me. Try to calm down.” Once Peter is relatively okay again, Tony starts to probe. “Mind telling me what’s up?”

“I pushed Flash,” Peter admits. “He hit his head, a-and it was an accident, I just panicked and pushed him away from me but I pushed him too hard and he hit the lockers and fell down, so I ran away and I didn’t mean to, Mr. Stark, I-”

“Don’t forget to breathe,” Tony said gently. “Flash is the smarmy little fuck, right? Was he bullying you again?”

“N-No, I think he was trying to be nice. And he has so much shit going on and I pushed him! I know what he’s going through, and I did that to him, Mr. Stark, I hurt him.”

“Stop thinking about the push,” Tony orders. “Why did you push him?”

“I panicked.”

“I’m going to need more than that, kid.” Peter looks down at his lap, reluctant to say anything. “Has this got to do with the Snap?” 

Peter stays quiet, unsure of whether he should lie, or if telling the truth is the better option.

“Ned called me,” Tony says quietly. “He’s worried about you, says you keep losing focus and disappearing into your head.”

“Oh.”

“You have to tell me what’s going on, Peter,” Tony says, biting his lip as he prays that he’s doing this right. “Because from the sounds of it, working your shit out by yourself isn’t working.”

“I died,” Peter blurts. “I died, and it hurt. But Ned died, and Big Peter died, and they felt nothing. They just went to sleep, then woke up again. I don’t know what to do with that. I know what it’s like to disappear, and I remember everything about the Place, but no one knows because they can’t know. I’m supposed to just move on, like everyone else, but I can’t because I’m stupid and different and it’s like I’m stuck there, Mr. Stark. I keep waiting to fade away again.”

“Peter-”

“I can’t look in mirrors, anymore, because I’m too scared that I won’t actually be there. And I can’t look outside during sunrise or sunset because it’s orange and hazy and it’s like I’m back there. I don’t feel real, anymore. Everyone else is alive and existing and they’re happy, but I feel like I’m dreaming, and that my body isn’t real, or it isn’t mine, or something, and I don’t exist anymore. I’m not me anymore.”

“Peter, shush,” Tony interrupts, holding a hand up to silence the babbling teenager. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or May, or Ned, or anyone?”

“I’m supposed to be okay. I can’t not be okay, because if I’m not okay, they won’t be able to be okay either,” Peter explains, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“God damn it,” Tony groans. “You really have the superhero complex down, kid. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders all the time.” Peter doesn’t respond, looking down at his hands. They’re shaking.

“I think you need some help,” Tony says, phrasing it carefully. “I have a therapist, and I think you would benefit from meeting with her too.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t need a therapist, Mr. Stark-”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, kid,” Tony says sharply. “Her name is Jane, and she’s really good. Did you know I used to have panic attacks?” Peter shakes his head, surprise flitting through his eyes. “She helped me work through them. I’ve been having them again lately, but I can cope with them now, thanks to her. She can help you cope, too.”

“Does it ever get better?” Peter asks, and he sounds so young an innocent that Tony wants to cry. 

“What did it feel like when your Uncle Ben died?”

“Um, really bad. I didn’t want to get out of bed. May stopped eating for a while.”

“And what does it feel like now?”

“Still really bad, but I can laugh again, and May’s happy now,” Peter says. “Is that what this is going to be like? I’ll still feel it, and remember it, but it’ll get smaller?”

“Smaller and smaller, until it feels like nothing,” Tony promises, nudging Peter’s knee. “It’ll suck until then, but in a few months, you’ll be able to breathe again.”

And it’s true. Tony knows that soon, Peter will feel sunlight bathing his skin and will be able to enjoy it, to feel the warmth down to his bones. He knows the Peter will swing through New York, feeling the rush of adrenaline race through his veins as the wind takes his breath away. He will be able to look at pretty lights and see them as beautiful, rather than as a painful memory.

He knows that Peter will be able to breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> yayyy, you made it to the end!!! thanks for reading!!!  
> this was kind of inspired by my own experiences with disassociation. it really makes me panic and i just don't feel right? hopefully i translated it well into this fic, idk.  
> anyway, if you ever need any help with any mental health problems, please don't hesitate to get some. my favourite therapist (out of many) is Jane, who i referenced in this fic, and she was honestly the loveliest person ever. never be scared to get help if you need it.  
> anyway, give me kudos and comments because i need attention or i'll die.  
> see ya when i decide to post another random ass fic in the middle of the night.


End file.
